


Staring Down The Barrel Of A Forty-Five

by BosieJan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gun Kink, Gunplay, M/M, Petopher Appreciation Week 2016, Thigh Holsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 07:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8789662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BosieJan/pseuds/BosieJan
Summary: Peter was fairly certain that his attraction to Chris had nothing to do with Chris’ perfect teeth or the silver-foxy way his hair and beard had begun to change colour, but had everything to do with the gun holster sometimes strapped to Chris’ thigh.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My Submission for Petopher Appreciation Week 2016 - 'Thursday - Kink'.  
> Title is an homage to one of my favourite Shinedown songs. I suggest you listen to it some day; it's transcendent.
> 
> Art by: http://sleepersith.tumblr.com/

 

Sometimes it was the holster for the Remington 1911. Other times, it was the holster that could be interchangeable between Chris’ favourite Beretta M9, and the Browning Black Label Peter remembered all too well the cold sting of as it was cracked across his cheek during a rather violent confrontation between them.

 

The stink of gun oil had been in his nostrils for days, and Peter swore to himself to never sneak up on the hunter again, unless he wanted another broken cheekbone or a bullet dug back out of his shoulder.

 

On weekends, Chris kept his shoulder holster on, usually with the M9 and Black Label secured in place where they couldn’t be seen. His denim jackets and black hunting jackets hid almost everything, except to those in the know of how heavily-armed Chris was at any given time. Knife in his boot, knife in his jacket pocket, another up his sleeve. Can of bear mace in his other pocket, guns about his shoulders. It went without saying that Chris could take down any normal human with his own bare hands, but taking down a werewolf required much harsher tools.

 

If Chris and Peter were going deer hunting, Peter went in only his sweatpants and a t-shirt he could ruin, since he hunted on all fours while Chris scared the game out of the bush. Chris carried a crossbow for most of their deer hunting trips, the bolts clicked neatly into the thigh holster specifically designed for crossbow ammunition. They stayed out of Chris’ way if he were jogging or walking at a brisk pace, and were easy to grab from there as he fired at their prey.

 

Two of the bolts had been lodged in Peter’s back on two separate occasions, and those darts stayed back at Chris’ weapons hold, because the smell of his own blood _outside_ of his body drove Peter mad. He couldn’t sleep for a week after Chris helped him heal up, since the bolts were cleaned and stored away in the bedroom closet. The blood had seeped into the wood of the shafts, and Peter could smell it even in other rooms of the apartment.

 

“Can’t keep the holster on while you’re fucking me, could you?” Peter asked one night, his belly full of excellent Chinese take-out, and his back being worked over by Chris, who straddled Peter’s upper thighs and just up onto his ass in order to massage the knots out. Werewolf or not, knotted muscles weren’t any laughing matter. “I think I’d like it, if you could.”

 

Chris only snorted and gave Peter’s underwear-clad backside a hard swat, then slapped at his side to make him turn over. He climbed off to make it easier, then re-settled into Peter’s lap in order to work at Peter’s neck and shoulders. They’d stayed in their underwear for comfort’s sake; the summer heat was nearly unbearable even with the air on, and Chris wasn’t fond of getting stuck at the junk.

 

“It’s attached to my belt, Peter,” Chris answered patiently, digging his thumbs in hard enough that one popped, Peter’s right shoulder a point of hurt for the werewolf. “The straps loop over my belt in order to stay on. It’s not by the grace of _god_ that it stays, you know. Gravity is stronger than wishful thinking.”

 

“Hm. The least you could do is humour me. I’m not looking for you to pull the gun on me while we’re _otherwise engaged_ , but maybe the thrill of having it right there’s what I want. Not sure.”

 

Chris rolled his eyes and suddenly bent down to press a firm, dry kiss to Peter’s lips, then rolled off of both Peter and the bed entirely. “I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile, stop jerking off with my guns nearby, all right? I found a suspicious stain on the barrel of the .45 yesterday. I know it was you, because _I’m_ not sexually attracted to my weapons.”

 

“That’s the one with the mother-of-pearl handle, right?”

 

Chris nodded, flipping Peter off as he headed to the ensuite to take a piss. “No more, Peter.”

 

“I just added a bit more of a _pearly finish_ to it, that’s all,” he replied, the sauciness in his voice unmistakable. “Besides, it’s the M9 and the Black Label you prefer, isn’t it?”

 

“If I find your sticky fucking mess on those babies, you’ll be finding a new place to live,” Chris called from the bathroom.

 

The toilet flushed and the sink ran for a few seconds, then Chris came out wearing the thigh holster, its strap looped over the waistband and up through the thigh hole of his boxer briefs, rucking them up strangely on one side. His thighs, though powerful and well-defined, were nothing compared to Peter’s thick trunks. Peter could crush a watermelon between his, while Chris used his for the benefit of being swift while running.

 

The two meant nothing to each other, but both were useful in certain situations.

 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Peter purred, sitting up and pushing himself to his hands and knees to crawl toward the end of the bed. He settled back on his knees and palmed himself through his briefs, leaning back to rest on the other hand and stretch himself out as he locked his eyes on Chris’ adorned thigh.

 

“What’re you gonna put in there? Something big, right?”

 

Chris fought the urge to roll his eyes because really, Peter sounded ridiculous. Only Peter Hale would be turned on by not just a hunter, but a hunter’s weapons. Chris took a few steps to his left and drew open the top drawer on the tallboy he used for socks, underwear, and shirts. Tucked among his jockeys and boxers, was a gun he only kept in the house--the bedroom specifically--and never hunted with. It was a Heckler & Koch 45 Compact, and an expensive one at that. It had a fatter barrel than the Browning, but operated on a Browning linkless recoil operating system. Peter had only really taken a good look at it a handful of times, and it was like the Cadillac of Chris’ guns. Peter was sure there were better guns out there, but the owner of Argent Arms _should_ know his stuff.

 

Peter could feel himself drooling as he stared at the gun, Chris’ fingers holding it firmly but at the same time, delicately. The safety was on but is was loaded; Peter could smell the gunpowder and the astringent oils Chris used on it. Once a week, the handguns were taken apart and cleaned, while the rifles and assault weapons were taken care of biweekly.

 

“That’s the one,” Peter purred, gripping himself through his briefs and giving a bit of a whimper, as he almost squeezed himself too hard.

 

Chris let a small smile slip free of his sour facade, and he stepped to the end of the bed so he could grab Peter by the hair, the gun gently tracing down the side of Peter’s face and along his jawline. Pressing it up against the hollow beneath Peter’s chin, Chris used the lifting action to tilt Peter’s head back so he could dive in for a feverish kiss, his teeth automatically biting at Peter’s lips for access.

 

Peter kept his hand over his groin and the other dug into the comforter with a crunch of compressed fabric, his shift in check because it was an expensive comforter, and his other hand was placed somewhere delicate.

 

Chris pulled away and chuckled lightly, his eyebrows drawn together as he sneered at his horny wolf, Peter’s cock hard behind his hand and his chest flushed. “Bet if I fed this to you, you’d cream your briefs. Would you like to try, Peter?”

 

Chris held the gun up so Peter could see that yes, the safety catch was on, and Peter nodded his consent, his mouth opening wide with a click of his jaw. Chris felt his cock throb hard at the sight of the wide open mouth and felt almost like it was a waste of a perfectly good moment. He could toss the gun aside, feed Peter his cock instead, then maybe fuck around with the gun a little more. Not literally of course..bodily fluids were a bitch to clean out of all the nooks and crannies, as Peter didn’t seem to understand.

 

Chris took a deep breath and held the gun to Peter’s lips, his finger off of the trigger just for safety’s sake and held to the side, but Chris’ eyes were on Peter’s tongue. The way it immediately licked at the muzzle, as if licking the tip of a very firm cock. His tongue was pointed and aimed for touching rather than tasting, and Chris slipped more inside, until Peter’s mouth could almost close around the barrel and give it a good suck.

 

“Fuck, it’s like some kinda obscene dream,” Chris swore, unable to take his eyes off of Peter’s mouth, as the plush lips sealed around the barrel. Peter’s nostrils flares as he breathed and Chris was sure that Peter could taste it all; the gun smoke remaining inside, even after cleaning. The gunpower residue, the heady bite of ozone from the spark of the muzzle flash.

 

Chris began moving the gun as if he were fucking Peter’s mouth with it, the curl of Peter’s tongue around the barrel and the moans he gave around it making Chris lightheaded. He stepped just a little closer, the edge of the bed the only thing between himself standing and Peter kneeling on the bed itself. His other hand sneaked into the front of his underwear and then he hauled them down enough to fish himself out of them, very slowly jerking himself off.

 

“Go on, Peter. I know you’re gonna come anyway. Why not pull it out and let me have a look, hm? I wanna see just how hot this gets you.”

 

Chris knew-- _he knew_ \--how hot Peter got from gun play. It was as known to them as each other’s bodies by that time, and Chris licked his lips when he saw Peter’s cock springing out of his tugged-down briefs, Peter’s hand immediately around it and stroking firmly, and with determination. Chris could see the wetness already showing up, and he pressed the gun in just a little further, not choking Peter with it, but making him aware just how big the HK really was.

 

“Christ, I’m gonna paint you so white, Peter,” Chris said quietly, a bit lost in the moment and almost more aroused than Peter was. His cock actually ached, he was so close to coming. “All over that gorgeous body, with my gun in your fucking mouth-”

 

It almost sounded forced but Chris caught himself off guard as he came suddenly, the gun stilling in Peter’s mouth until Peter sat forward again to take it in hand, prying it from Chris’ grip and continuing to move it while he finished himself off. His eyes were locked onto Chris’, not down to his chest where Chris’ come was slowly making its way down from his chest, past his navel, and soaking into the drooping hem of his briefs.

 

Chris’ eyes had only closed for a moment and he stood with his legs further apart, a bit of sway in his movements as lightheadedness and post-orgasm bliss dumbed his brain functions just a tad. “Fucking come for me, wolf,” he ordered, leaving himself to hang outside of his underwear, as he lifted his hand to his mouth, so he could lick the dribbles of his own seed from his fingers.

 

Peter lost it when he saw that. One of his favourite things, besides Chris’ gun collection, was the taste of semen. Didn’t matter whose it was, it was all like candy to him. The fact that Chris felt the same way was only icing on a very filthy cake.

 

The gun was pulled from Peter’s mouth and he sheld it in that hand as he groaned out his release, spattering himself and the bedspread beneath his parted thighs. Chris just watched with mild fascination, as Peter showed a more vulnerable side as he came. His eyebrows pinched together, his mouth opened in a partially-soundless cry, and his body shivered just the way human bodies did after a particularly intense orgasm.

 

“That’s it, so good for me,” Chris cooed, as he reached for, and took, the gun from Peter’s hand. He set it back on the dresser and sure that he’d have to clean it later, cupped Peter’s face with both hands and kissed him more gently this time, moaning softly into Peter’s mouth and letting Peter come down slowly from his enormous high.

 

Peter rumbled deep in his throat and tilted to the side to let his body fall back onto his ass, his knees aching just a bit, and his feet asleep.

 

“That..was exactly what I’d been looking for.”

 

Chris snorted, then shoved Peter over until he fell onto his back. “I’ll get the shower started.”

 

“Always a gentleman, even after you’ve fucked me with a handgun.”

 

“Only your mouth, jackass,” Chris called back, lovingly. “Now get in here before I change my mind about where I _do_ like to stick my guns.”

 

Peter peeled off his soiled underwear and tossed in the hamper on his way past, dodging a slap to the ass from Chris as he headed right for the steamy heat of the shower.

 

“What a _charmer_.”

 


End file.
